Jill crept round on her knees to his side. With one hand below in the darkness, John held hers. They clasped them and unclasped them as the sobs rose and broke silently in their throats. The old gentleman’s eyes took a light into them, as he saw their heads together by his bedside. With a great effort, he strained himself to rise upon one elbow in the bed and, laying the other hand upon their heads, he whispered that blessing which it has been in the power of the father to give from time immemorial. "God bless you," he whispered. "Make your lives out of love, as I have made mine. Make your children out of love, as I have made mine. Make your work out of love--as I have made mine." His voice burnt low, but yet it burnt. The flame of it was there. It seared into the very hearts of them. Jill’s fingers lay in John’s as a bird that is starved and cold, lies limply in the hand that succours it. Her cheeks were ashen white. Her eyes stared wildly before her at the pattern on the counter-pane and tears rolled from them without heed or stay. The moments passed then, as the old gentleman leant back upon his pillows. Without moving, they stayed there with heads bowed down before him. At last, he moved again. His hand stretched out once more and felt for John’s. "God bless you my boy," he said, as his son bent over him. "You’ve made us very happy. You’ve set your life just as we could wish. Now do your work. I expect I shall hear how you get on. They won’t keep that from me. They’ll let me see your first happy ending. It’s the only way to end--like this. Now kiss me--you don’t mind--this time--do you?" John kissed him, as pilgrims kiss the feet of God. "And tell me----" the old gentleman whispered. He paused to breathe as the thought came swiftly on him. "Tell me--why did you kiss me--on the forehead--that night--a year ago?" "I’d seen you in the Treasure Shop, sir--and I----" the words wrestled in his throat--"I thought you were the finest man I’d ever known." The old gentleman lay back again upon his pillows. The light of a great pride was flashing in his eyes. His son had called him--sir. That was all. Yet in that moment, he felt like a Viking being borne out upon his burning ship into the sea of noble burial. His son had called him, sir. He lay still, listening to the great sound of it, as it trumpeted triumphantly in his ears. His son, who was going to be far greater than he had ever been, whose work was above and beyond all work that he had ever done--his son had called him--sir. Then, for some time, everything was still once more. They bent their heads again within their hands. At last, the little old white-haired lady, like CHAPTER XXXVII THE CIRCULAR TOUR The evening, with her quiet feet, had stolen across the sky; night was fast riding in the wake of her, when at last they left the little old white-haired lady alone.